San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1887-09-03


OF Imposing. hoped that the long sweep
ing train Of my dress would add dignity TO
my small figure, and that Mr.. GascOigne had
not been misled by the photograph he had
seen into the superstition that | was utterly
different and on the strength Of that belief
engaged me.
Then made my way somewhat hesitat-
ingly down the stairs, at the foot Of which
a maid-servant took pity on my wandering
steps, and conducted me back into the great
hall and to room into which one Of the
side-dOOrs led.
With start of surprise looked round
me. Surely had been transplanted into
another region. For this room, long and low
though II was, was brightly lit and brightly
furnished. There was satin paper on the
walls, gold and pale green dadO, and
number of modern water-cOlOr paintings;
there were pretty fancy tables and low satin
chairs, crewel-embrOidcred curtains across
the windows, a Japanese screen, a glitter
Ing five-O'clOck tea-service on gipsy-Stand,
and grand piano, open, with one of Sulli-
vans songs upon it.
my lady," 1t would seem, did not love
ancient ways and conditions, but stroye with
much success to make her special room
~
had a pleasant tempting appearance, with
its soft bright cOlors and cleaning lamps,
its tea-cups and blazing fire. A novel of
Nudes lay open on an ottoman; anti.ma-
CAESARS worked in intricate crewels adorned
the couch.
But to me the Old-wOrld flavor and quaint
antiquity Of the Grange had revealed a new
phase of existence; | had been fascinated
by the battlements and gables without, the
dark wood and dim corridors within; and
now wonder and disappointment fell upon
me as l saw the sunflOwer curtains, the
Birket Foster paintings, and the BroadwoOd
grand. They Jared, they We're out of all
accord with ST. GabriePs Grange and the
pictures had drawn of its inhabitants.
No one had come down except myself, al
though the Dresden clock on the mantel-
piece had just struck half-paSt six in silvery
tones; but, as | stood Oh the fluffy white
hearth-rug, holding out my hands to the
warm blaze, the door was opened, and three
ladies came i'm.
They were all young and all beautiful,
with tall figures and fair proud faces. One
of them, who appeared to be about twenty
five or twenty-six, wore dark crimson
satin dress draped with black lace; the 9th
er two were In white cashmere stylishly
trimmed with black velvet, and having
square-cut bodies and pulled sleeves.
The wearer Of the crimson gown advanced
to me and held out her hand.
81 hope you have found things prepared
for you, Miss Thorne," she said. 81 am Mr..
Gascoigne's niece, Lady Martin POmerOy;
my sisters, Miss Farquhar and Miss Annie
Farquhar. II Is unfortunate that we are
going out tonight, your first evening here;
but do not suppose that my uncle will al
low us much of your company"
The words were civil enough; the tone
was so careless as to be slightly scOrnfuI.
"Isuppose Miss Thone is aware that she
is Mr.. GascOigne's companion, not ours"
said Miss Farquhar cOldy.
HE does not usually give his companions
much holiday" remarked Lady Martini with
a short laugh. 1T is possible you may find
it dull at the Grange, Miss ThOrne."
shall | make the tea, GwendOline?'
broke in Miss Farquhar, little inpatient
ly.
Her sister did not answer, but poured out
the fragrant beverage into the tiny cups
from the japanese teapot, displaying as size
did so the curve of round white arm.
The youngest girl handed a cup to me,
and, with a pleasant smile, said, in quick
low voice
You must be tired and cold after your
long journey. The tea will refresh you;
but we are giving you nOthingmOre because
my uncle will expect you to dine with him
at half-past seven"
"Mr. Gascoigne will expect you to do the
same every evening"" said Lady Martin
PomerOy. You will breakfast with us or
by yourself, and lunch at one. In the after
noon you will read to him, and, after an
hour here for tea, will devote your evenings
to him."
HAS Miss Thorne not been out as COM
panion befOreW asked Miss FarQuhar, rails
ing her eyebrows as though she would init
mate that | ought to know very well what
was expected of me-
EVERY household is not conducted on the
same principles as ours" answered Lady
Martin.
"Do you not then spend the evenings,
with Mr.. GascoigneY' | ventured to ask her.
"DOes he not dine with your
Not often" she said. HE goes his way.
we go ours. Do you think this room is like
what you have seen of the rest of the
Grange
mot ~ the least" answered.
Every we'll; this is where we live, except
when we can spend our evenings at Nor
bury"
"YOu know, do you not, asked Annis,
that our uncle is an invalid, that he is
lame? He keeps to his rODmS great deal,
and, as he is not in good health, he does not
care TO 20 out into society. But lie does not
wish us to rnain at-hOmt with him; we 20
out by his oder"
Her tnnr WAS almost annlnrrtir az II she
wanted 10 explain what | lni ut consider
strange in their conduct.
Yes" said Lady Martin PomerOy, curry
ing her lip scOInfully, he generally prefers
the society of his secretaries to ours. You
play chess, presume, Miss ThOrne?" she
asked abruptly.
at is one of the requirements Mr. Gas
coigne named" said. II have played Oc-
casiOnally"
"DO you like it?"
Fairly well, compared, that is, with other
games, and not with reading or singing"
you will get plenty of experience in it
here. As TO reading, does il make no diff
ference what you read or have you an equal
love for the Times and the Edinburgh Re
ptel0, Guy Livingstone and John HdlUdr"
81 should prefer the RcUieIO and John
HdIUaE.'
ITO be surt-yOu are clergyman daugh-
ter; l had forgotten" she said, still with
the lingering scOrn.
"Are your did not know that" Annis
broke in hurredly. MY uncle has told us
so little of you. Indeed it took us quite by
surprise TO hear that you were coming. I'm
Gle James is very reticrnt; he does not con.
suit us much. 1t is not as though we were